My father, Amotz Greenberg, was killed during Operation Protective Edge. It happened during the summer vacation of 2014, right before I was about to enter second grade. Even though they told me he was gone, I spent the rest of the vacation waiting for him to return. I waited for the door to open, and for him to appear. I felt like he had gone on a trip and I just needed to wait for him to come back. He never did.
The house went dark. Everyone else continued their vacation. Only in our home did everything stop. There was a sense of loneliness without him. I was waiting for the school year to start, for the vacation to end because it didn’t feel like a vacation anyway. I was sad and missed my dad and wanted to know where he was and when he would come back. All the plans we made with him became irrelevant. Just before he was killed, our whole family was in Eilat, and he promised me we would go again the next year.
But he wasn’t with us the following year, or the one after that. And we didn’t go to Eilat. In fact, we didn’t go anywhere without him because when he wasn’t there, everything felt fake. From that summer vacation on, things were different. It took us time to resume our lives after they came to a complete halt. No one in the family had the strength to carry on. Everyone was waiting for someone to give them the strength. I was waiting for my dad; I wanted him to give me strength.
Over the years, we somehow learned to live alongside the loss. Yes, we went on vacations to other countries, and yes, we experienced new things. I made friends, traveled, and grew up. Throughout all those years, I learned to live. More accurately, I taught myself to live and to be happy without constantly thinking about the loss but rather embracing it, embracing my dad.
A decade has passed. Today I’m 17, but my loss is still here. All these years, I waited for a miracle, but it never happened. My father remained dead. Life forced me to grow up and showed me that time doesn’t stop when your dad dies and that you have to keep going.
'Life forced me to grow up'
Today, I no longer wait for a miracle. I live my life knowing that my dad just wanted me to be happy; he would want me to move on with my life without holding myself back. My dad won’t come back, but my life isn’t over. The days keep passing, and alongside the fact that my dad isn’t returning, he is always there. In every picture, every memory, every star in the sky. He is always there.
I’ve learned to live with the loss. I’ve learned to be happy without feeling guilty about it. I’ve learned to rejoice and see the good things in life and believe my dad is always with me, watching over me. I believe he is proud of me. Even if I can never hear him say it, I know it's true.